Fractured: Resurface
by threnoidia
Summary: / Fractured AU / Seasons 9 & 10 Spoilers / The disgraced angel gave his life for Heaven's second chance but it seems the story isn't done with him after all. Woken in the middle of a field by a stranger, Gadreel is forced to come to terms with his reincarnation. It seems there is someone in Heaven intent on freeing Metatron, someone that Gadreel knows all too well... [on hold]
1. Chapter 1

Jared Padalecki and Tahmoh Penikett's portrayal of a fallen angel struck a chord with me. Especially Gadreel's selfless ending. I was so caught up in the story of this celestial being who was blamed for the downfall of ... well, _everything_. And his yearning for redemption was just so human-esque. When Tahmoh's time (maybe just for now?) on the show came to an end, I wondered what Gadreel's feelings, his goals, would be if he was brought back; thus the "Fractured-verse" where this story takes place.

I love reviews, so throw constructive criticism at me - especially where Gadreel's dialogue is concerned! Also, Brianda's name is pronounced: _bree-AHN-dah._

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><p><em>Sidenote: this story will intertwine with another Alternate Universe - "The Litany AU" - where I explore my own ideas for Supernatural's continuation after 10x05. Coming soon!<em>

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><p>He was suspended in darkness.<p>

_When they say my name perhaps I will be remembered …_

It flowed across his skin, rippling like the heavy air just before a storm.

_Not as the one who let the Serpent in …_

The sound of his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

_But as one of the few who helped give Heaven …_

Bright white light danced across the inside of his eyelids.

_A second chance!_

It was as if he had been plunged into freezing water. Chest heaving, he hauled his torso vertical. Grass. Trees. Fence line. Everything seemed too sharp, too _real_, as it billowed into focus. Sounds swam around him, static hummed in his brain. Did angels have a heaven, after all?

With a hiss not unlike a gust of wind, noise began to make sense. He could hear birdsong, breeze through leaves, cattle lowing, and –

'Gadreel!'

Feminine, urgent, the voice was not familiar. Green eyes flicked to the source. Crouched beside him was a blur of honey-blonde, startling blue and porcelain. A hard blink cast her into focus. Soft features were kneaded in anxiety, full lips parted as if she might say that word again.

_That word._ He frowned. 'That is my name?' It came out as a question, as uncertainty in the face of an almost entirely blank mind.

Pink-painted lips formed a smile. 'Yes, my friend, that is your name.' Somewhere in the distance, a dog began to bay. Unease flickered across her brow. A soft hand grasped his forearm, comfortingly warm on his bare skin. 'Quickly, we must leave this place.'

'And – _what_ _is_ this place?' Gadreel eased himself to his feet, pausing as the world began to spin. His head thumped as if he had been underwater for far too long. 'What has happened to me?' _Surely I do not live again. _A chill clawed through his chest. _Not after my sacrifice._

'I will explain more when we are somewhere safe.' It sounded like a promise. The woman pointed toward a nearby hill. 'Follow me.'

Gadreel didn't move as she walked away. He peered around, trying to grasp any shred of explanation. The field sprawled away, bordered by glittering fences and yet more fields. Black and white cows grazed peacefully on the hillsides. The sky was pristine blue, the sun a blinding ball of light.

There was everything to suggest an ordinary day on Earth, and nothing to tell him how he had found himself _breathing _again. Entirely confused, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

'Gadreel, hurry!' The woman's voice made him start.

She was standing halfway up the gentle incline, waiting for him. Gadreel's long strides bought him swiftly beside her. She flashed him another smile and nodded toward a road at the edge of the field. 'You'll be unable to fly for a few days, so I borrowed a mode of transportation.'

A white 1987 Buick Somerset coupe, slightly muddy, sat on the gravel between tarmac and fence line. Keys jingled as the woman withdrew them from a pocket in her vivid red coat.

Gadreel blinked. 'How do I know that I can trust you? I do not even have your name.'

She turned to him, clear blue eyes earnest. 'I understand you must have many questions for me, but for now all you are required to comprehend is that I am going to help you.' Again, he felt her hand gentle on his arm. Shorter by at least two feet, she looked up at him. 'My name is Brianda.' She took a deep breath, searching his face. 'And I know of what took place in Heaven.'

Burning agony, blinding light and last words washed over him. Gadreel swallowed. 'I died. The Sigil.'

'Yes.' Her voice was soft, sympathetic. 'But your part in this tale is not yet finished. I was allowed to bring you back.'

'Allowed to –' The words were strained, dipped in disbelief and anger. _This was not supposed to happen! _His hands curled into fists at his sides. 'Allowed. By _whom_?'

For the first time, Brianda seemed reluctant to clarify. She looked at her feet. 'Come with me. Let me explain why you have returned to this plane.' When her gaze rose to meet his, her eyes were pleading. 'Gadreel, please trust me.'

The way she looked at him had the effect of water over flames. He lived again and his sacrifice now meant so little… But this woman … Following orders was the mark of a good soldier. And Gadreel could not bring himself to blame her for something he had once done himself.

His hands relaxed. A long breath escaped him. Subtly, Gadreel felt for his grace. It was deep inside, crackling through the veins of his vessel. Content he had the power to defend himself, he jerked his chin toward the car. 'Then let us go to your place of safety.'

Brianda immediately swivelled to the fence and slid between the wires. Gadreel followed, cautious that his bare chest was kept clear of the barbed metal strands. One caught the hem of his trousers, but it was easy to pull himself free. A scrap of beige fabric fluttered in the breeze. Gadreel heard the Buick's motor putter to life.

The passenger door whined when he yanked it open. Fluidly, he slid his tall frame into the seat. As soon as the door was shut, Brianda accelerated onto the road.


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark by the time the Buick pulled up to a little motel. The red flashing light gleamed "vacancy" beneath a retro sign claiming the place was three stars. Gadreel pondered what that could mean as he gazed through the Buick's dusty windshield.

Brianda switched off the ignition. 'We are a few miles out of Farmington, Missouri. I have already rented a room, so we can go right in.' She clicked the car door open and climbed out into the brisk night air. Gadreel's boots crunched on gravel when he did the same. He watched Brianda lock the little car before following in her wake as she led the way to a chipped red door.

Moonlight glinted off the bronze numbers: 13. Brianda produced the key and pushed inside. Gadreel glanced back over his shoulder. Although it had been several hours, he was still as unsettled as if he had woken in the field merely seconds ago. It was a strange sensation: going from the muted feelings of being _nothing_, to having a body again. His vessel appeared to be in the same shape he had left it in, minus the sigil he had carved into his own flesh.

Silvery moonlight bathed the Buick. Gadreel noted its position in the cramped parking lot. Wariness still pooled in the bottom of his stomach. He had been led astray twice in his millennia-long lifetime – he had no wish to fall into that same trap for a third time. With tightened jaw he entered the tiny motel room.

Brianda's eyes flickered to him then down to the backpack she had just put on the rickety double bed.

Gadreel closed the door behind him. 'What is that for?' Suspicion made his muscles tense.

'Clothing,' she replied without looking up. A familiar purple shirt and grey hoody, both neatly folded, emerged from the bag's largest compartment. Brianda set them down on the hideously coloured duvet. 'I believe these belong to you.'

'They were the clothes my vessel wore,' he conceded. His eyes narrowed, brows drawn low in an ominous frown. Gadreel's tone grew dangerous. 'But I wish to know why I am here. Alive.' _Why my death was rendered meaningless._

Brianda met his gaze and Gadreel was surprised to find defiance mixed with the fear. 'Have patience, brother. All shall be explained to you.'

'You are an Angel, one of my sisters.' Gadreel had felt the power pulsing beneath her skin – within her human vessel – since he had first laid eyes on her. However, there was still something he could not quite make sense of. On the silent car ride he had sensed something _ancient _in her grace. It was younger than his own, he was certain, but powerful.

Gadreel stepped forward, perplexed. 'Brianda.' Her name was velveteen on his tongue. 'Sister, what _are you_?'

For a long moment she did not move or reply. Then the angel slowly sat down on a corner of the bed. Bowing her head, she folded her hands across her navy pencil skirt.

'I am a class of angel,' she began after another moment of permeable silence, 'gifted with powers of great healing. My kind was formed after you were … after you were imprisoned, after the first war in Heaven. Angels returned from battle with Lucifer's traitors suffering from wounds more terrible than anything of the past. We saw to it that they, and their vessels, were healed from almost any injury. We were named Rit Zien.'

'Hands of Mercy.' Gadreel translated the name from Enochian aloud.

'Yes.' Brianda's heavy sigh perplexed him. 'For thousands of years we protected the protectors of mankind… When Castiel and Raphael came to odds, Heaven was plunged once more into civil war. Most of us, the Rit Zien, chose to remain neutral, healing any of our brethren who came to us. Then we were all cast from Heaven.'

Images of that fateful night flashed through Gadreel's mind. 'I remember the Fall…'

'Some of us died.' Brianda was hardly audible, speaking almost as if he was no longer standing in the doorway. 'The rest of us were wounded, wingless … The surviving Rit Zien and I did what we could for any angel we came across. We did our best to form a peaceful division within the unfamiliarity of the human world, amongst all the danger from our kin. For a time we at least fared better than Rebecca's penitents. But then _Metatron_ arrived.' She spat out the name of God's Scribe like it was a worm. 'Blinded by promises of going home, positions of power, of peace, many of my brothers and sisters – of _our_ brethren – joined him.'

Gadreel looked down at the floor. 'Metatron was clever.' His voice was hoarse. 'But he was no God.'

'He was not,' Brianda agreed, 'But by the time he was defeated, those who I had been created with were already massacred. They were sent in as soldiers.' Bitterness seeped through her words: 'Our purpose was never to fight.'

'You – you are the last?' It was a chilling thought, that an entire class of angel could be all but extinct.

'There are five of us left.'

'And where are they?'

Gadreel hadn't really meant anything by the question, but when her head jerked up Brianda's expression was fierce. He was shocked to see tears at the corners of her eyes sparkling in the electric light. He had never seen an angel cry.

'I did not suggest that I would tell you everything,' she told him. She blinked hard and swallowed. Sudden rage washed over her face. Brianda looked up at him. 'And after the blood on your hands –' Each word boiled with ire – 'I do not trust _you_ with the location of the last of my kind.'

Rage erupted in Gadreel's chest. He had been starting to relax; she had not referred to his mistake since their meeting. A voice scoffed in his head: _Did you truly believe she would be any different?_ It was just too much to bear.

'I did not ask for this!' he shouted, sorrow scraping in his throat. 'I did not ask to be returned! I gave everything so that Heaven – so that Castiel – would have another chance. Now it means _nothing_!'

Gadreel was in front of Brianda with her hair grasped in his fist before he quite knew what was happening. His grace crackled beneath his skin, screaming to be freed, to be used to destroy this so-called "healing angel" who had plunged him back into pain and anguish. In the cell in Heaven he had finally found the courage to do what he had wished to for so long – not only to clutch at redemption, but to end his own existence.

It seemed _everything_ he tried twisted into some erroneous fate.

Gadreel yanked Brianda's head back, exposing the soft creamy flesh of her throat. Reaching into her coat, he soon found the cold handle of her angel blade. 'Why was I resurrected?' he demanded, 'So you could taunt me with my past?'

Brianda calmly closed her eyes. Gadreel pressed the tip of the sacred weapon beneath her chin. Only her lips moved when she spoke, all the heat gone out of her. 'Forgive me, brother. I forgot in my grief that you carry a much heavier weight upon your shoulders.'

Gadreel sneered, green eyes glinting. 'What do you know of _grief_? What do you know of _loss_? The mistake I made was with the best of intentions. Yet I was cast into the darkest pits of Heaven and forgotten. Our Father allowed my torture for _millennia_. And every time I died at the hands of Thaddeus…' His voice cracked. When he spoke again his words were heavy. 'Resurrection has but one purpose: renew pain.'


End file.
